


To Be Out of Your Own (and consumed by another)

by Cassiara



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Partners, Aurors, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bottom Harry Potter, Communication, Dom Draco Malfoy, Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Experienced Draco Malfoy, Happy Ending, Harry Potter/Other (brief), Hurt/Comfort, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, M/M, Mentions of various crimes, Oblivious Draco Malfoy, Oblivious Harry, Pining, Podfic Welcome, Rough Sex, Safewords, Spanking, Sub Harry Potter, Subdrop, Top Draco Malfoy, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unsafe BDSM (not Drarry), Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:55:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23611912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassiara/pseuds/Cassiara
Summary: By now even Harry recognises the pattern; he’d be an idiot not to. He’ll have sex, and in the moment it’ll be amazing. In the moment he simplyis, he feels without thinking. Good, bad, pleasure and pain, he can just let go and feel because he isn’t the one in charge. Then he wakes up the next morning feeling disgusting and worthless and swears to never do it again.Still, it helps him forget about his stress, his anxiety and his hopeless crush on his Auror partner so he keeps going back.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 127
Kudos: 1525
Collections: Draco tops Harry 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to the mods for being so patient and generous with extensions. Endless gratitude to my beta [Pineau_noir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineau_noir) for doing such an amazing job making this legible. This fic would probably have no smut at all if it wasn’t for [MarchnoGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarchnoGirl/pseuds/MarchnoGirl) and her brilliant smut-writing ways inspiring me into the right mindset. Thank you for all the cheerleading! 
> 
> Written for the prompt:  
> Harry Potter has been self-destructing, indulging in unsafe 'BDSM' / rough sex, while juggling a high-stress high demand job as an Auror. When Draco finds out after a particularly unsafe situation, he offers a [colleague]-with-benefits arrangement. Harry learns that, you know, there is such thing as negotiations and consent etc..  
> submitted by [bafflinghaze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bafflinghaze/pseuds/bafflinghaze) who writes amazing fic! I hope I managed to write something you’ll enjoy!

_To give yourself over to another body  
That’s all you want really  
To be out of your own and consumed by another  
To swim inside the skin of your lover  
Not have to breathe  
Not have to think_  
Florence Welch

By now even Harry recognises the pattern; he’d be an idiot not to. He’ll have sex, and in the moment it’ll be amazing. In the moment he simply _is_ , he feels without thinking. Good, bad, pleasure and pain, he can just let go and feel because he isn’t the one in charge. Then he wakes up the next morning feeling disgusting and worthless and swears to never do it again. 

Then days and weeks pass, and slowly but surely life gets to him. Will he catch that murderer? What will happen if he doesn’t? Will he be able to avoid that Witch from St. Mungo's who’d asked him out? Will he ever find someone to fit in with, and when he doesn’t, will he be able to deal? His dishes get left undone, building up to an insurmountable mountain on his kitchen counter and stressing him out so much he can’t use the kitchen at all anymore. He’ll run out of clean clothes and spend hours at work worrying over what to wear the next day. He’ll stop sleeping. Harry’s thoughts will gain momentum and weight until they spin around the inside of his head and slam against his skull with such force he can’t figure out what any of them are saying anymore. And that’s when he’ll give in. Because at that point his thoughts can’t hold him back anymore, and even if they could, Harry’s pretty sure they’d tell him functioning at work is more important than avoiding the feelings of guilt and worthlessness sex always brings. 

Sometimes, like this time, Harry doesn’t wait for his brain to break down beyond the point of rational thoughts. They got an important case today, and Harry’s not going to fight his brain while trying to solve it. So he goes to the club. It’s always the same one, ever since that first night. The first gay club he’d ever found in Muggle London, the same Glamour he’s always worn. The regulars there knew him by sight now and that makes it easier to keep the wrong kind of bloke away and attract the ones he wants. The ones he wants are the angry ones. The ones with that look of danger about them. Who shove their way through the crowd to get to the bar, instead of weaving around people. Harry wants the ones who aren’t afraid to _hurt_.

“Back so soon?” the bouncer asks. He’d caught on at some point, about what Harry’s there for. Harry thinks maybe he worries, though he’s not sure if it’s about the state of drunkenness Harry always reaches, or if it was about the blokes he leaves with. Maybe it’s the combination of the two. Still, it doesn’t matter. Harry isn’t here to be worried about, rather the opposite actually. 

He’s already drunk, but not enough for the bouncer to deny him access so he makes it into the club and makes his way to the bar. He orders and downs two shots before letting his eyes wander the club. Another three shots later he’s following Matt out the door and ignoring the bouncers stare. He doesn’t remember if this is the third or fourth time he’ll be doing this with Matt, but figures it doesn’t matter either way. Matt suits his needs, at least his need to stop thinking. Harry isn’t sure he’d call it sex. Sex would be what he’d do with someone he cared for, someone who cared back — even if only in the moment. This thing with Matt was all about release. 

When they finish Matt leaves and Harry smiles blissfully into his pillow, thoughts quiet and body sated and aching. Half-asleep, loneliness makes his arm reach out to the empty space beside him, searching for warmth that isn’t there. In his dreams strong hands wrap around him and hold him through the night and Harry wakes up to the non-existent scent of apples and lavender.

* * *

The lights in the office are too bright, and Harry’s already pounding headache screams in protest. In Harry’s opinion the office is always too bright, and it’s all Draco’s bloody fault anyway. If he’d just stop refusing to use his reading glasses their office wouldn’t need to be lit with what had to be at least three Lumos Maximas. 

“Oh, for the love of Morgana, Potter. Again?” Draco asks when he catches sight of Harry squinting. 

Draco doesn’t usually call him Potter anymore, but apparently he has to revert back to it when he’s particularly disgusted or angry. ‘Harry’ just doesn’t have the same opportunity for harshly pronounced consonants as ‘Potter’ does. At least that’s how Harry imagines Draco would explain it if Harry ever got the guts up to ask him about it. He doesn’t though, because the other option is that Draco uses his last name to distance them somehow. Or that Draco still considers him ‘Potter’ and just forgets to censor himself when he’s angry. Better not to know.

“It’s only been what, four days? You were hungover on Monday too, can’t you drink on Fridays and Saturdays like a normal person?” 

For a ridiculous moment Harry considers telling Draco that he does drink on Fridays and Saturdays like a normal person, thank you very much. Fridays he has a pint with Ron, and Saturdays he’ll have a glass of wine at the Burrow. Which means his ‘nights out’ have to be Sundays or weekdays. He imagines telling Draco that it’s more of an emotional hungover than anything else, since there aren’t hangover-cures for those. He imagines just telling Draco everything, but then he imagines the worry Draco only barely manages to hide behind his scathing comments changing into a full-blown panic.

“I just didn’t sleep well,” Harry says. 

Draco scoffs, “You never sleep well. If you sleep at all. Some days I worry you’re a Vampire, and where would we be then Potter? Me, an Auror, you a bloodthirsty creature. Utter disaster.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Still not a Vampire, Draco. Though if it eases your worry I swear I’ll flee the country if I ever become one.”

“So, just an alcoholic and insomniac then? Better, I suppose, though still a disaster. I assume you’ve forgotten all about our case?”

Deciding to hear the question behind what Draco’s saying, Harry rolls his eyes again, and winces at the protest of his head. It’s usually easier to cut through all the bullshit layers Draco insists on covering his true intentions with.

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t ready to be here. And I’d never forget a case, especially not _this_ case. I know what it means to you.”

And, Harry supposes, what it meant to the world-at-large. Catching the last escaped Death Eater, in a lot of ways, means closing the book on a war that ended over a decade previous. The fact that it was Crabbe Senior, a father who’d cast Imperio on his own son and sent him on a suicide mission intended to kill not only Harry and his friends but Draco and his too, well… It made the case personal to both of them. 

“Greg and I didn’t realise how wrong Voldemort was until it was too late to turn back; too late to earn forgiveness. Yet here I am,” Draco gestures to their office. “While Vincent, who realised how fucked up it all was before Voldemort even returned and acted to do the right thing, died believing he’d murdered his friends and the leader of the side he’d chosen.”

Draco exhales heavily and sinks into his chair. Harry’s heard this story before, though they’d both been drunk at the time. He knows it isn’t over yet. 

“Fuck it, he didn’t die, he was murdered. After spending a year trapped in his own body, forced to do whatever his father wanted. Taking down Crabbe Senior is the reason I fought so hard to join the Aurors in the first place.”

Harry swallows back the fear that when this case is over Draco will leave the Aurors. Leave Harry. Harry lived through a war, he can live through losing his Auror-partner too. He’s just feeling the effects of what he’d done last night. He always feels unlovable and terrified of being left alone after his _nights_.

“I can’t believe I’ve spent years working here, watching his case-file being handed over from incompetent Auror to more incompetent Auror,” Draco frowns, “though I suppose they didn’t trust me not to murder him once I found him.”

Harry gives his partner a weak smile. “I think they were right in that, for the first few years at least.”

“That might be so,” Draco drawls reluctantly, “but at least he’d have been off the streets by now.”

“Well, we’ve got the case now. We’ll get him.”

Draco opens the file on his desk and frowns at it. “Well we better hurry. I hate to think, what a man who had his only son under the Imperius curse for over a year is doing free in the world.”

The file, Harry thinks, is surprisingly thin considering the hunt for Crabbe has been active for over a decade. There are interviews with the Death Eaters he worked closely with, details of results from the search of his home, and a few interviews with civilian tippers who believe they’d seen Crabbe.

“This looks like one of those desk-filler files,” Harry sighs. Some of their colleagues always had a stack of files on their desk that Harry and Draco had decided to title “desk-fillers” since they mainly sat there to make the Auror in question look busy, while they never actually did any work on solving the case inside it. 

Draco slams his copy of the file shut. “Well no wonder, honestly. It’s been with Hughes, Brown and Corbyn. They have mountains on their desk, yet never seem to feel the inclination to leave them.”

Harry laughs, and it feels soothing on his headache. “Start from scratch then?”

Draco stands and grabs his cloak, and Harry’s gotten so good at ignoring how good the cloak makes him look that he only spares it a fleeting thought.

“Oh joy, we get to visit Azkaban,” Draco says. He considers Harry for a second and reaches into his desk for a bar of chocolate. 

“For your head, or whatever that is —,” he gestures to Harry and tosses the chocolate at him. “I swear the dementors left something in the walls of that place.”

The chocolate warms him inside and out, and Harry isn’t entirely sure if it’s the chocolate itself or the feeling of being cared for by Draco. The warmth fades when they get to Azkaban though, because Draco is right. The dementors may be gone, but they left something behind. That, or the dark tint to the magic of everyone there has done something to the castle. By the time they get back to the office they’re both drained and exhausted, and Harry feels like they’ve wasted a whole day.

“Thanks, Harry,” Draco says when Harry places a steaming cup of tea in front of him. So maybe the day wasn’t a total waste after all, if he’s back to being Harry.

It takes them two weeks to retrace the steps of the previous Aurors on the case. Two weeks of dead-ends and pointless interviews. One particularly memorable Witch had led them into her house, claiming Crabbe was inside, only to point at the stuffed cat she had standing on her mantel.

“This is useless!” Draco hisses, throwing the Crabbe-file at the wall in a burst of frustration. “We’ll never find him at this rate. This stupid file will end up being our first ever desk-filler.”

Harry sits on the floor to pick up the papers scattered there. “It won’t. We swore we’d have no desk-fillers. And besides, Crabbe isn’t a genius — we’ll figure out a way to flush him out. We just need one of our brilliant plans.”

Draco snorts. “You mean one of our infamous plans, right?”

Harry smiles up at Draco from the floor, and has to look down immediately. It’s been too long since he found some release, that’s all. That’s the only reason sitting on the floor by Draco’s feet feels so — he just needs to get his brain working again that’s all. Having fallen helplessly for his partner is one thing, but harbouring inappropriate sexual fantasies while at work is where he draws the line. He just needs to let off some steam so he can go back to not thinking about it.

“What’s this?” Harry asks, picking a Post-it up from the floor, mainly in effort to distract himself. 

“Must have fallen out of the file,” Draco says. He steps closer to Harry to see the note, and Harry’s made a terrible mistake because Draco’s standing right above him smelling of his stupid apple-shampoo and his stupid lavender hand-moisturiser and it’s been too long since Harry got his head sorted and he can’t think. 

Draco grabs the note out of Harry’s hand. “Fucking Brown.”

“What?” Harry mentally shakes himself and gets up off the floor. 

Draco flips open Harry’s copy of the Crabbe-file and starts leafing through it. “Brown made himself a nice little Post-it note about a potential lead and then just didn’t bother following it up. It’s not in any of the official documents. Just this stupid little post-it that was probably stuck to the back of a proper report.”

“He was probably annoyed someone wanted him to do actual work on one of his desk-fillers,” Harry says, grabbing the note back from Draco to read it. 

_Possible sighting, March 21st 2010. Martin Walker, Squib — purchasing drugs at the time of the sighting, unreliable witness?_

“This is over two months ago, he never followed it up?” Harry asks, frowning at the note. 

“Brown forgets to boil his tea-water. He should have retired before we even started working here, but he’s a stubborn sod who insists on sitting here and being useless instead. Naturally, he wrote this note and forgot all about it.”

Harry scribbles a hasty note to the records office asking if there is a file on Martin Walker, and the file comes flying into their office before Daco finishes his rant over the incompetence of everyone but himself and Harry.

“Martin Walker,” Harry reads aloud, speaking loudly enough to break Draco out of his rant. “42 years old, Squib. He’s been brought in a couple of times by Muggle police for possession of narcotics. Has a Muggle flat, Muggle job and apparently uses Muggle drugs too.”

A cold feeling of dread spreads through Harry at the Muggle connection. It isn’t often that their Auror work brings them to the Muggle world, and Harry’s grateful for it. There’s a reason Harry always goes Muggle for his hookups, even though his Auror-grade Glamour could fool any wizard. The types of guys Harry usually takes home for the night are also the guys he’d be arresting in the morning. He decided long ago that bringing a criminal Wizard home was too big a conflict of interest. 

“Do we have an address?” Draco asks, stepping in too close again to read over Harry’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Harry says, pointing to the listed address. 

Draco steps back, and Harry listens as he puts his cloak on. “Brilliant, let’s go.”

Draco leaves the room without waiting for Harry’s reply, and Harry takes a minute to rub his tired eyes. Having the case to focus on helps, but Harry’s brain is slowly overflowing with thoughts and worries that he can’t seem to suppress. His skin seems to be itching for the sharp sting of pain and the roughness of letting go. He’ll go to the club tonight, he decides, when they finish interviewing Martin. Smiling with the relief of his decision, and the direction of having another lead to follow, Harry grabs his jacket and follows Draco.

Martin proves to be clear-headed and cooperative, he assures them he’s a recreational user, and that he’d been perfectly sober when he’d seen Crabbe. Harry lets Draco do the talking, forcing himself to focus on the conversation happening in front of him, instead of yearning for the club. It happens like this sometimes, a slow decline and then suddenly he stops functioning at all. His thoughts tangle and stumble as he watches Draco carefully extract Martin’s memory from the night. He lets Draco drag him out of the flat and side-along him back to the Ministry. He uses the elevator ride from the Atrium to their office trying, and mostly failing, to iron his thoughts back out to something that’s at least a little bit functional.

“You’re being weird again,” Draco observes after closing the door to their office and discarding his cloak. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what it is this time either?”

Harry smiles, “Just tired. That whole Vampire thing, remember?”

“Right,” Draco says, and it’s obvious he doesn’t believe it, but Harry doesn’t know how to bridge the gap that always opens up between them when his brain gets like this. He can’t ever say that he wants a hug, and he wants to be held down, and he wants to let go of all control. He especially can’t say it to Draco, because Draco is the one he wants to give all the control to. Harry wants to fall apart and let Draco pick up the pieces, but he _can’t_ , so he pushes him away instead. 

“Let’s just watch this memory so we can wrap up for today and I can get some sleep.”

“Fine,” Draco says, and Harry aches with knowing he’s hurt him. It bleeds through his clipped words and stiff shoulders. Draco thinks Harry doesn’t trust him. Harry knows, because when he turns to get their Pensive Draco rolls down his sleeves to hide his faded Mark. 

Harry sets the Pensive down and tries to think of anything to say that will make this better, but Draco will know he’s lying no matter what he says. They know each other too well, and not well enough. 

Harry sticks his head in the Pensive instead, figuring if he can’t fix the situation he can at least escape it for a little while. Except somehow escaping makes everything worse. He stares at the scene in front of him with horror, because he is fucked. Utterly and irrevocably ruined. The man Martin is approaching to buy drugs from is Matt, the bloke Harry had hooked up with two weeks ago.

He looks more dangerous in the dimly lit alley than he did in a dimly lit club, and Harry breathes through the fear that rushes through him and makes his heart pound. He’s going to have to explain to Draco that he knows this man, this scary-looking criminal, and Draco won’t let up until he knows how. 

Draco drops down next to him in the memory, and Harry works hard to keep his breathing even and his face blank. 

“Well, he looks like every stereotype of a drug-dealer rolled into one,” Draco says, gesturing at Matt. 

Martin and Matt speak quietly to make their transaction. Harry’s eyes stay fixed on Matt the entire time, and he jumps when Draco prods him in the ribs and points to a dark corner further up the alley. Harry stares, and seconds later he sees movement.

“Matt,” calls an angry voice from the darkness. Harry can’t see his face, but he hears Draco’s gasp next to him. The man takes a step forward, and light hits his face. It is, without a doubt, Crabbe. Matt hands Martin his drugs and takes the money before turning and walking towards Crabbe. Seconds later Martin leaves the alley, breathing hard. The memory fades out when he rounds the corner.

Harry pulls out of the memory with his eyes closed, taking a moment to gather himself as his consciousness settles back into his body.

"Merlin's tits!" Draco says, "That was really him!"

Harry nods slowly. That had indeed been Crabbe. And it had been Matt, the guy Harry had fucked only two weeks prior. Harry inhales shakily through his nose before opening his eyes to look at Draco. He looks excited, a hint of something wild in his eyes and the hurt from before forgotten.

"He must have been hiding in Muggle London all this time, while we've been busy looking for him in Magical communities all over the world, figuring a Death-Eater would never consort with Muggles. But of course Crabbe would hang around the _lesser species_ if he could be the boss of them and poison them with drugs." Draco looks disgusted, though Harry isn’t sure if it’s with Crabbe or the stupidity of Aurors.

"He's been right under our noses," Harry frowns.

"I suppose we'll have to go undercover in the Muggle drug-world, I've no idea how else we're going to find him."

Ice rushes through Harry's veins when he remembers Matt. He has to tell Draco. Even if it means losing Draco, his job, and his dignity. It’s not his secret to keep anymore.

"Uhm, well — I kinda know him. The drug dealer."

Draco looks blankly at him as Harry's heart beats so hard against his ribcage he thinks it might bruise.

"You know him?"

"Well, my Glamour does. A little."

"How?" Draco demands. The look of excitement is back, but so is the ever-present worry. The demanding tone makes Harry tingle with wanting to reply, and that only confirms his earlier thoughts; it’s been too long. Maybe he can hit two pixies with one spell.

"How doesn't matter. I'll make contact with him tonight and get back to you."

Draco barks a cold laugh at that. "Not without backup. It's our rule, Harry."

Harry silently curses the damn rule he'd insisted on in their first year as partners when Draco kept running off alone to investigate. Harry had done it too, of course, but Draco had been the first to get seriously hurt. The 'no work without backup' rule had saved them both many times, but if Harry can get a lead on Crabbe without letting Draco in on his habits, the risk will be worth it.

"Fine, but then we need to wait until tomorrow. I'll need some time to update you on my backstory, and find a Glamour and story for you." Harry finishes with a yawn and lets the past week of sleepless nights wash over him. The second yawn comes without being forced.

"I'd do it today, but I'm completely knackered. I don't think it would be safe for us to try going undercover tonight."

Draco looks at his watch and nods reluctantly. "Fine, go and get some bloody sleep will you, Potter."

Harry tries not to let the use of his last name sting him, but fails. Harry knows he’s failing Draco by saying he’s too tired to work. Still, he'll go out and find Matt and some release tonight, and make it all up to Draco in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry goes home first, because Draco is a maniac and will probably fire-call to make sure he’s really there, instead of out doing something reckless. Of course, he’ll be right but Harry reserves the right to act a little reckless sometimes. Sure enough, a shower and a drink later Harry’s fire flashes green. Harry accepts the call and kneels down to talk with Draco when the sod walks through entirely. 

“Oh, good, you’re here.”

Harry finds himself kneeling in front of Draco for the second time that day, and a rush of arousal floods through him. Biting his lip to ground himself he stands, this really isn’t the time to let his inconvenient _thing_ for Draco get in the way. 

“Where else would I be?” Harry asks, yawning. He’s glad he’d thought ahead and anticipated the call, because the pyjamas he’s wearing can only help sell his story.

Draco looks to the half-finished drink on the table and frowns, but doesn’t comment. “I wanted to start working on my Glamour for tomorrow.”

“And I wanted to get some sleep, I thought we agreed.” Harry lets himself slump into his sofa, trying to really let his exhaustion show. 

Draco stares, considering. “Alright, but if I find out you’ve gone and done something stupid, I’ll have no choice but to murder you, I hope you know that.”

“Unless nightmares count as stupid,” Harry says before he can catch himself. “Honestly, I just need some sleep.”

Draco rolls his eyes and grabbs a fistfull of Harry’s floo powder. “Fine, but I’ll be very interested to hear how you know a Muggle drug-dealer. I certainly hope you’re not addicted to Muggle drugs on top of everything else.” His eyes land on Harry’s drink. 

Harry wonders for a moment if it would be easier to let Draco think he was addicted to drugs, just like he lets Draco think he drinks way more than he does. 

“It’s not drugs,” Harry says, finally. “I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. Here though, I don’t want to do it in the office.”

Draco frowns again, and Harry aches with having to disappoint him. “Alright, Potter. I’ll be here in the morning.”

Draco leaves with a rush of green fire, and Harry makes himself sit in front of the fireplace and finish his second drink just in case he comes back. Harry considers having a third drink before going out, but discards the idea. Tonight isn’t just about release, it’s work too. 

When Draco doesn’t return Harry casts his Glamour over himself and puts on his standard pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He spells a hidden pocket in his jeans and tucks his wand inside. He doesn’t usually bring it when he goes to scratch his itch, because having it makes it harder to let go. He’ll make an exception tonight though. Tonight is all about exceptions. 

The club looks like it always does, though the corners look somehow darker without the strong buzz of alcohol to soothe everything over. Harry makes his way to the bar and worries for a second that Matt won’t be there tonight. He doesn’t have to worry long before he spots him on the other side of the bar. Harry orders himself a couple of shots and waits for Matt to come to him. That’s the way it goes: Matt decides and Harry listens. 

Matt slides in next to him before Harry’s taken his second shot. 

“Back again?” he asks, placing his hand on Harry’s lower back. 

Harry nods. “I always come back eventually.”

Matt grins, and something about the glint in his eyes sends a thrill through Harry. “Do your shot,” he demands.

Harry downs the shot and looks back up at Matt. 

“Let’s go,” Matt says. He grabs Harry’s hand and pulls him through the club, and Harry grins at the thrill of letting him. Of starting to let go. 

They go to Harry’s, like they always do. And Harry mixes them a drink, like he always does. Then he adds a drop of Veritaserum to Matt’s. Just enough to make him talk honestly for fifteen minutes. 

“So, Matt, what do you do for a living?” Harry asks, after they’ve both finished most of their drinks. 

“‘M a drug dealer,” Matt says. His hand lands on Harry’s knee and starts moving it slowly upwards. 

“Really?” Harry says. “Who’s your boss?” The hand on his thigh inches upwards and he hates the idea that he might have to show this memory to Draco. 

“Some big bloke, don’t know his name, but he goes by Crucio.”

Harry jumps at the curse, and Matt must think it’s because his hand is now covering his crotch, because he grins and presses a little harder.

Gathering his wits as much as he can Harry asks, “How would I go about finding him if I wanted?”

Matt laughs and takes out his wallet. He fishes out a card and hands it to Harry. “Usually he finds you, but whenever I need to contact him I text him on this number. Why, you want to become a drug-dealer too?”

Harry takes the card and studies the details for a Pensive-memory just in case Matt doesn’t let him keep it. 

“Maybe, I’m pretty sure I’ll be fired from my job next week.” The truth of the sentence makes Harry cringe, but Matt rubs his hand over Harry’s cock and he decides to focus on that instead. He’s got the information he needs. 

“Well he’s always recruiting if you need some quick cash,” Matt says. “But enough with the twenty questions. Go to your bedroom and get undressed.”

Harry leaves Matt in his living room and does just that. He leaves the jeans with his wand in the bathroom and crawls naked into bed. He’s done working, now it’s time to let go.

When Matt joins him he pulls Harry out of the bed and pushes him roughly to the floor. Harry’s knees scream in protest at the sudden contact with the hard floor, but the roughness of it sends his thoughts flying and he lets go immediately, surrendering to the sensations of his body rather than the stress of his mind. 

Matt always delivers feelings and sensations strong enough to make Harry force out everything else. His knees throb, his arse feels full, his shoulders ache with holding himself up from the floor, his body surges with adrenaline when Matt closes his hands around his neck until his vision goes spotty and still holds on for a while longer before letting go. His thighs shake with need to come, and he gasps for air through it all. 

Matt shoves one of Harry’s hands out from under him and he goes face-first into the floor. Pain explodes in his cheek, but at the same time Matt closes a fist around his aching cock and pulls it roughly and the sensations seem to blend together and Harry comes in thick splotches on the floor. Matt groans and empties himself in Harry, then immediately pulls out. 

“Fuck, that spasm thing your arse does when you come always sets me off.”

Harry spares half a thought to feeling grateful. Matt probably wouldn’t have bothered making him come if not. Nothing about this is about Harry’s pleasure, after all. It’s about Matt’s pleasure and Harry’s release. He stays on the floor, absently noticing the come and lube leaking from his arse as he listens to Matt getting dressed. 

“I’ll tell Crucio you might contact him for some work,” Matt says, “might tell him about your brilliant arse while I’m at it. Could probably earn some money off that too.”

Harry listens to the door close behind Matt. He listens to his footsteps as he descends the stairs, and the faint noise of his front door closing. He should get up and lock it. He should get up and clean himself off. He should get up. 

Harry doesn’t know how much time passes before he finds the inspiration to reach his hand out and summon his wand. Doesn’t know how long he holds it in his hand before the constant inner thoughts of _disgusting, dirty, freak_ grow loud enough for him to cast a cleaning charm over himself. When he starts shivering he forces himself off the floor and onto the bed. 

It hasn’t worked. It’s not been working for a while, he thinks, but the feelings of worthlessness and being dirty had always been weaker and better than his jumbled thoughts and worries. They haven’t, this time. Not enough. The only thing he’s accomplished is feeling tired enough that at least he’ll be able to sleep. This time his arms don’t reach out for someone who’s not there until after he’s fallen asleep. 

He wakes to the sound of footsteps thundering up the stairs to his bedroom. For a second he thinks Matt must have come back, and he searches the room for what he might have forgotten. He only finds sunlight shining in through his window, and for half a distracted second he just stares at the dust-particles dancing in the light. Then the footsteps stop and his bedroom door opens. 

“Draco,” Harry croaks, and he winces at the sound of his voice. 

Draco stands in the doorway, staring at Harry with pure horror on his face.

“Shit,” Harry says. He pulls at his duvet in panic, double-checking that it’s covering his naked body. “Sorry, I forgot I asked you to come here this morning. I’ll —,”

Harry trails off at the continued look of frozen horror on Draco’s face. The previous night comes back to him in flashes, hands around his neck, his face slamming to the floor, rough hands gripping his wrists. The duvet covers him from the waist down, but of course that’s not enough. Not when Harry hasn’t had the chance to do his routine healing-spells. 

“Draco,” Harry says again and he can’t keep his voice from shaking. “Please go downstairs, I’ll get some clothes and meet you there. I’m fine, really.”

Draco finally moves, though he walks into the room instead of out of it. “Fuck, Harry, you look — what happened?” His voice shakes as much as Harry’s. 

“Draco, please just go downstairs. I’ll explain everything, I just — I don’t want you to —,”

“To see you like this?” Draco interrupts. He seems to have replaced some of his horror and worry with fury. “Well tough luck Potter! I don’t want to see you like this either, but here we are! You went out last night, didn’t you? Without backup! Fuck, I _knew_ it. I should have trusted my gut, but instead I decided to trust you, like the idiot that I am.”

Harry sighs and summons his pants from the floor. Draco isn’t leaving. Harry should know better than to expect him to leave his partner hurt, even if this has nothing to do with work and everything to do with Harry being too fucked up to have a normal one-night-stand like the rest of the world. 

He puts his pants on underneath his duvet and gets out of bed. It’s a mistake. That much is obvious by how Draco gasps and stares down at Harry’s lower half. Harry follows his gaze and sees his bruised knees and the distinct fingerprint bruising all over his thighs. 

“Nobody did anything I didn’t want them to,” Harry says. He doesn’t meet Draco’s eyes. “It’s fine, I’m fine. Well, I’m obviously fucked in the head, but this is what I wanted.”

Except it hadn’t been what he wanted because the drop from the euphoria of letting go was officially worse than the strain of holding it all in. Except he’d never wanted Draco to know about this part of him, ever. 

“I’ll be down in a second,” Harry says and pushes past Draco to lock himself in the bathroom. The sight of himself in the mirror shocks him. His right cheek is a deep purple, spreading varying shades of blue down to his chin and up to his eye. The rest of his face is covered in tiny red dots. Probably from the lack of oxygen, he thinks absently, raising his chin to look at the bruising on his neck. He looks like a mess, and he thinks he probably feels worse. 

He whispers healing spell after healing spell, half listening to the sound of Draco pacing outside the door. He’s probably wondering if he should break it down or give them both some space to cool off. Eventually the footsteps retreat down the stairs and Harry breathes a sigh of relief as he finishes healing everything that won’t be covered by jeans and a t-shirt. He casts a couple of spells on his knees too, figuring Draco won’t react well to him wincing as he walks. 

He exits the bathroom quietly, hoping Draco won’t come rushing back up now that Harry’s left the bathroom. When he doesn’t, Harry gets dressed. No more excuses, he thinks, time to face Draco. He doesn’t let himself consider how his life is ruined. How he might as well take Matt up on the offer to sell drugs, or his arse, because when Draco knows, Harry will have an Auror partner who can’t bear to look at him. 

Draco is sitting on his sofa when Harry makes it down the stairs, casting spells at the two near-empty glasses from the night before. 

“This one has traces of Veritaserum in it,” Draco says. “You did work last night.”

Harry sits on the sofa too, wishing he had an arm-chair or another sofa so he could give Draco more distance. He’ll want it, when he knows. 

“Yes, I did.”

Fury flashes across Draco’s face, and Harry braces himself for a verbal lashing. Nothing comes though, and when he looks at Draco the coldness on his face is worse than anything he could have said. 

“Tell me everything,” Draco demands, and the coldness is in his voice, too.

Harry takes a deep breath and fixes his eyes to a water stain on his table. “I told you my Glamour knows the drug-dealer. That’s true. His name is Matt, and I’ve been hooking up with him on-and-off for the last few months. I was going to go out last night anyways, because I needed — I hadn’t seen him since we got the case and I needed to. And then we saw Matt in the Pensive, and I figured I could just — do what I always do, and just ask him a couple of questions along the way.”

Harry dares a look up at Draco. “I’ve found a way to contact Crabbe though. I have a way in, we can get him.”

Draco’s mouth tightens. “Do you really believe I give a _single fuck_ about Crabbe right now?” 

Harry winces at the anger in his tone, and to his horror has to wipe away a couple of tears. He feels too raw, too everything. 

“Fuck, you’re dropping, aren’t you?” Draco asks, voice softening. “That’s what’s been happening every time I thought you had a hangover that seemed to last for days?”

“I — dropping?” Harry asks.

“Yes, dropping, drop, sub drop, whatever you like. That’s what’s happening right now, it’s what’s been happening every other week for as long as we’ve been partners. It’s -” Draco breaks off, staring at Harry’s confused face with horror again. “You have no idea what a drop is, do you?”

“What does it matter?” Harry asks, desperate to get Draco off the subject of Harry’s emotional hangovers before he veers off into what causes them. “I’m sorry I went off without you last night, really, but I’ve got a way to Crabbe. Please can we just let this go?”

“It matters,” Draco says, pronouncing each word with care, “when I find my partner bruised and looking like someone’s killed his puppy. It matters when I find out you’ve been practicing BDSM without knowing about sub drops, because that leads me to worry about what else you don’t know.”

Harry keeps his face carefully blank. He’s heard about BDSM, of course he has. It’s right there on the sign beneath the word queer of the club he goes to. It’s just that he never bothered to learn about it. He likes it when someone else takes control, likes it when there is too much sensation to think because it’s the only way he can let go. 

Draco is suddenly closer to him on the sofa, and Harry doesn’t know when that happened. “Please tell me you know what BDSM is,” Draco says. He doesn’t touch Harry, but his hand twitches like he’s thinking about reaching out. 

Harry stares at the water-stain again. He doesn’t know why but something about Draco’s voice makes him want to cry. He sounds caring. Furious yes, but in a caring way. Like Harry _matters_ , except the more Harry tells him the more he’ll be disgusted. And then he’ll remember Harry broke their ‘no work without backup’ pact and he’ll just be furious and disgusted and Harry will be left alone, just like he deserves. 

“Answer,” Draco demands, and even the stern tone sounds caring. Caring and in control and Harry feels too raw to resist. It’s so easy to let Draco take charge, soothing, like sinking into a bathtub full of warm water. 

“I’ve heard of it, but no I don’t really know what it means.”

“What about safe-words,” Draco asks, and the twitching hand finally reaches out and lands on Harry’s knee. It soothes Harry enough to answer. 

“Heard of that too, but I always felt like it would defeat the point. Nobody ever asked for one anyway.” Harry lets his brain slow down into only doing what Draco asks. He lets the worry and the anxiety slip away for now. He can’t fix what he’s done. He can’t change how Draco will feel about it, but what he can do is what Draco asks of him. And right now that’s answering. 

“Aftercare?” Draco asks.

“No,” Harry says, and the hand on his knee twitches in response. 

“What is it you do then, with Matt and whomever was before him?” Harry wonders at the lack of judgement in Draco’s tone. Wonders how he can ask, after what he’s seen and not sound disgusted.

“It’s just — release. A way for me to let go of thinking and just feel. The more sensations the better.” Harry hesitates for a while, but Draco doesn’t speak so he continues to fill the silence. “I like giving up control; letting someone else decide for a while. The pain helps too, and sometimes it feels good. Sometimes the whole thing feels absolutely brilliant, but no matter how good it feels in the moment I feel like crap after. I call them emotional hangovers.”

“That’s sub drop,” Draco explains. “When you feel like shit after. That’s what happens when you have no boundaries, no safe-words and no aftercare. Fuck, I could kill every single Dom you’ve ever met because they didn’t teach you this.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says. He’s not entirely sure what for, but Draco sounds pained and it’s his fault.

Draco squeezes his knee. “Harry, look at me.”

Harry looks up before his conscious brain catches up to the words. 

“It’s not your fault. There is nothing wrong with you for wanting the things that you want. Nothing at all. You need to be safe about it though, you need to have a Dom that practices safe, sane, and consensual sex and play. Someone who likes to give the things you like to recieve.”

Harry lets Draco’s words wash over him and soothe parts of him he hadn’t even noticed was aching. Draco doesn’t hate him for needing this. The last part of Draco’s speech sinks in and he frowns. 

“It’s not about what I like though, it’s about what _they_ like, my Doms or whatever.”

“It should be about what you both like, that’s the whole point. You should both enjoy everything that happens, and he should take care of you after. Talk you through it, clean you off, get you water.”

“Kind like what you’re doing right now?” Harry asks, frowning up at Draco. “Is that what’s happening, you’re giving me aftercare even though you’re furious and disgusted because it’s so obvious I’m a mess?”

Harry suddenly wants to pull away from Draco before Draco can pull away from him. Of course that’s what’s happening. Draco’s being kind because Harry is obviously falling apart. He’ll put him back together and then he’ll leave for good. Harry’s breath catches and he hates himself for it. If Draco’s only staying to make sure he’s safe, then Harry should pull himself together so Draco doesn’t have to care for him. 

“I’m angry that you went undercover without me last night,” Draco says. “And I’m angry with myself for not trusting my gut last night. And I’m angry that you’ve been doing this for years without telling me, and with myself for not realising. I’m furious with the Doms you’ve been with that they haven’t taught you any of this. I’m furious that the way you grew up has made you think that you can’t get what you want and need without suffering for it.”

Harry pulls away from Draco’s warm hand on his knee, and sits as far away as possible on the sofa, pulling his feet up and wrapping his hands around his knees. “I’ll be alright if you leave. I’ve been doing this on my own for ages, you don’t need to be here.”

“What I’m trying to say,” Draco says, voice steady, “is that I’m angry about a lot of things. I’m an angry person. But I’m not angry with you for the rough sex or release or whatever it is you call it, I’m not disgusted with you or with the things you like. And the fact that I’m angry doesn’t change the fact that I _care_ about you.”

Harry works on keeping his breathing even. Draco cares. He cares, and he’s angry, but he’s here. 

“Is it alright if I put my arm around you?” Draco asks, holding the hand that had been placed on Harry’s knee up without moving it towards Harry.

Harry nods and Draco scoots a little closer, placing his hand on Harry’s back and rubbing his thumb in smooth circles. The tension seeps out of Harry’s shoulders as he lets the sensations soothe him. 

“That’s what asking for consent looks like,” Draco says. “See how nice that feels?”

“Yeah,” Harry admits. He shifts to the side, resting his head against Draco’s chest. His heartbeat is a steady, calming rhythm against Harry’s ear. 

“How come you know so much about this anyways?” Harry murmurs, the soothing feel of Draco against him chasing away his anxiety.

“I’m a regular Dom at the BDSM club in Knockturn,” Draco says, and Harry twists to look at him in shock to make sure he’s not joking. 

“What?” he splutters. 

“Yeah, I’m guessing you’ve never been?”

“Didn’t know it existed, if I’m honest. You’re really a Dom?”

Draco laughs. ”Yep, thought I was the Auror-force’s designated kinkster, but I guess I’ll have to share that title now. 

“But you’re not —,” Harry starts. 

“An arsehole?” Draco finishes.

“Well, a total one at least,” Harry grins, feeling lighter for the first time in weeks. Maybe months, if he’s honest. The fact that he’s not alone in liking what he likes, that there might be a way to have it without the crushing emotional hangover after, the fact that Draco knows and isn’t running the other way — it all makes Harry overflow with relief. 

“You don’t have to be an arsehole to be a Dom, and you _can’t_ be a good one if you’re an arsehole.”

“Hmm,” Harry says. He wonders if he’ll ever find one of Draco’s good Doms. If anyone could ever do anything that would feel as good as leaning against Draco while he rubs soothing circles into his back. He wonders how he’ll ever get over his stupid _thing_ for Draco after this moment, after knowing what Draco likes to do in bed. After knowing how good it feels to curl up against him. 

“I could be your Dom, if you wanted.” Draco says it like it’s the easiest thing, like it’s a casual offer to a friend. Like it’s ‘ _I could cook us dinner_ ’ or ‘ _We could watch a movie_ ’.

“What?” Harry asks, and it’s nowhere near as smooth as Draco’s voice. 

“I mean, you need someone to teach you the right way of doing this. Someone you trust, and honestly at this point someone _I_ trust. I could do that. I could be your partner-with-benefits type thing. I’d like that, if you want it too.”

Harry’s heart soars and crashes at the same time, because Draco wants to do this with him. Wants to take control and be his Dom and fulfill every single one of Harry’s daydreams. Except he doesn’t, because he wants to be a colleague-with-benefits and Harry knows without a doubt that his own feelings go beyond that. 

“Now?” he asks, trying to wrap his head around what it is Draco’s offering him. 

“No, not now. You’re still dropping, and I’m still angry. I don’t do scenes when I’m angry. And I don’t do scenes without proper communication first either.”

“Right,” Harry agrees. “So it’d be like —,”

“It would be whatever we like, as often as we agree. And only if you want it.”

“I do,” Harry says. He hears his own heartbeat in his ears, beating louder and faster than Draco’s. If he can’t have everything he can at least have this. “I definitely want to.”

They sit on the sofa in comfortable silence until Harry’s raw nerves are covered in a protective film and he feels more like himself than he’s done in as long as he can remember. Draco’s steady presence helps more than Harry could have imagined, and he remains seated next to him even after he starts to feel better. He doesn’t want to stand up and face the conversation he knows they need to have about him breaking their deal to never work without backup. Eventually though, he knows it’ll have to happen and maybe it’ll be better to get it over with. 

“Come on,” he says, extracting himself from Draco’s arm. “I’ll make us some breakfast.”

He forgets about the state of his kitchen until he’s leading Draco through the door. Piles of dirty dishes fill the sink, and his stovetop is full of used pots and pans. 

“Shit,” Harry says, turning on the sink to start cleaning some dishes. “Sorry, forgot it was such a mess in here.”

“Potter, you need to be taking better care of yourself,” Draco says, and Harry winces at the last name. 

“What just happened?” Draco asks, gesturing at Harry.

“Nothing,” Harry says, turning his back to Draco to start on his dishes. He knows there is a spell for this, a little fix that would make his life so much easier — he’s never learned it though. Never thought to ask Molly when he was fresh out of Hogwarts, and years down the line it felt like it was too late. 

“No,” Draco insists, “something happened. I said you need to take better care of yourself and you winced. If this is going to work between us, both as partners and as partners-with-benefits then you need to talk to me. I can’t always be guessing what’s going on inside your head.”

Grounding himself in the repeated motion of washing dishes Harry speaks. “It’s my name. I don’t — I hate it when you call me Potter.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Draco says. He’s standing by the pots and pans, casting spells on them and leaving them shining and clean. 

They finish cleaning the kitchen in no time, and Harry wonders when the dishes became so insurmountable to him. It can’t have taken them more than half an hour to clean them all. All he’d needed was an hour after work to do them, and his stress levels would have been more manageable. 

Harry cooks them breakfast. Pancakes, strawberries and bacon with maple syrup because he’s feeling drained and the sugar will do him good. Draco pours him a glass of orange-juice and makes tea for them both, remembering to add two sugars to Harry’s.

When they’re halfway through eating Draco sighs. “So, tell me about last night. I’m assuming you went off without me because you didn’t want me to know the nature of your relationship with Matt?”

Harry nods, lowering his eyes to the table. 

“That can’t ever happen again, ever.” Draco’s voice is so fierce and determined that Harry can’t help but look at him.

“Trust is vital to every part of our relationship Harry, you can’t go off without me like that again. _Promise me_.”

“I promise,” Harry says, and it’s an easy promise to make. Draco knows his deepest, darkest secrets now and he hasn’t run away screaming. He can trust this man to be fair and kind, and Harry owes him the truth in return. 

Draco studies his face for a while, and Harry meets his gaze, trying to let the sincerity of his words shine through. 

“Alright then,” Draco says finally. “Tell me what happened last night.”

Harry tells Draco everything. He starts out with the intention of just explaining what he got out of Matt while he was on Veritaserum in the living room. All about Crabbe going by the name Crucio, which makes them both flinch, and about getting a phone number to contact him. But when he’s finished with that part Draco just keeps looking at him, so Harry continues. He tells Draco about the sex, and it’s easier than he’d thought. Maybe because Draco had seen the evidence of it already, maybe because Draco just nods and sips his tea. When Harry talks about something Matt did that he didn’t particularly enjoy Draco frowns at his tea, and not at Harry and it makes it easier somehow. Harry tells Draco about Matt’s parting words too, just in case it becomes relevant to their work later.

“Alright,” Draco says when he’s finished. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Where do we go from here?” Harry asks, and he’s not sure if he means the case or them. Maybe he means both.

“You told Matt you thought you’d lose your job next week, yeah?” Draco asks. “I figure we give it at least the weekend before we text the number he gave you. That makes it more believable that you’ve lost your job by the time you make contact, and it gives Matt a chance to speak to Crabbe about you.”

“Yeah, alright, that sounds like a good plan,” Harry agrees. 

Draco smiles. “And today I think you should take some time. Get some rest, and think long and hard about what you like and don’t like in bed. We won’t do anything at all until I know what we both enjoy and what our boundaries are with each other.”

Harry feels a blush creep up his cheeks. The idea of talking with Draco in detail about what they like, and possibly about what they’ll do in bed feels both embarrassing and exciting at the same time. 

“So you’re saying I should take a sick-day to think about sex?” Harry asks, trying to hide his embarrassment with humour. 

“Exactly,” Draco grins. “Then we have tomorrow and Sunday to talk,” he winks, “and we’ll make a plan for Crabbe on Monday.”

“What will you do today then?” Harry asks, blush making his cheeks flame. He feels like a bloody teenager. 

Draco frowns again. “I’ll go to the training room at the Ministry and punch a bag about my anger until it goes away.” He looks at Harry and notices him wince. “Don’t worry, I’m not very angry with you. Mostly with the world in general. Punching a bag always does the trick.”

Harry smiles. Draco is always a sight to behold when he lets his fury fly in the training-room.

“Go punch your bags then,” Harry grins.

“And you do your sex-homework. I’ll come by again tomorrow, alright?” Draco smiles, and Harry gets the sneaking suspicion that he likes to embarrass Harry a little.

“Alright,” Harry agrees.


	3. Chapter 3

Turns out, thinking about the details of what he likes, and what he would like to do with Draco is an exercise in arousal. Harry sits at the kitchen table for hours after Draco leaves, imagining Draco bending him over it and having his way with him. He imagines Draco taking him to bed and tying his hands down. He imagines Draco standing over Harry and looking way too sexy in his cloak, making Harry undress and kneel in front of him. He imagines Draco taking Harry’s belt off and spanking him with it until his arse is red and heated, and then he imagines Draco licking and kneading his sore cheeks. He sits at his kitchen table and pants with arousal and refuses to touch himself because he wants to do this properly. Wants to have answers for Draco when he asks, and wants the next time he comes to be with Draco’s hand around his cock. 

When the sun starts to set outside his window he takes a cold shower and gets ready for his Friday pint with Ron. They’re staying in today so he can hang out with Hermione too, and maybe see Rose and Hugo before they go to bed. It’ll be fine, he tells himself. There hasn’t been a distance growing between them for the past few years. Except there has. He sees them once a week still, but he hasn’t actually spoken to them for years. Not about anything that matters. Maybe Draco has a point about his whole trust and communication deal.

Rose and Hugo are awake by the time Harry gets to Ron and Hermione’s, and they’re so excited to see him that it takes Ron and Hermione a full hour to make them calm down enough to go to sleep. Harry sits in the living room, warming-charms on the pizzas he bought on the way over, sipping a cold beer.

Ron is the first to make it down, sagging into the sofa next to Harry with a sigh.

“Hugo’s finally out. Remind me to ask you to come over earlier next time, they’re so happy when they get to see you that they absolutely refuse to sleep.”

Harry smiles and takes a sip of his beer. “I should see them more,” he admits. “I haven’t been very present lately, have I?”

“Not emotionally, no,” Hermione says, walking in with a glass of wine in her hand. 

Harry opens one of the pizzas and busies himself taking a slice. “Yeah, according to Draco it’s a problem. The not talking too much bit.”

“Finally admitted you’re arse over tits for him then?” Ron asks. He gives Hermione a slice of the pizza before placing two on his own plate. He’s joking, mostly. At least, Harry thinks he’s joking. Still, it’s something to open up about. 

“Yeah, actually. I think I am.” He times it so Ron chokes on his pizza, just because he can. 

Ron forces the pizza down with a gulp of beer and stares at Harry. “Really? Bloody hell mate.”

“Have you told Draco then?” Hermione asks. 

Harry laughs. “Nah, but give me another decade and maybe I’ll get there.”

Harry goes home feeling relaxed and happy, and like maybe everything might work out. Like maybe he can get back to that feeling of having people to talk to. Of being able to ask for help or advice, or just share the details of his life. He hasn’t realised how much he shut down in order to hide the shame he felt about his nights out. Still, he wraps his arms around his spare pillow before falling asleep — letting his body surrender to the illusion that someone’s there with him. 

He wakes too early, dreams of Draco swiveling in his head and making his cock ache. He rolls out of bed and has another cold shower, determined to wait for Draco though he can’t explain why.

He fire-calls Molly and says he can’t make it to dinner, and then he paces. Draco never said _when_ he was coming, just that he was. The anticipation makes Harry’s skin tingle. He’s not even sure they’ll get to the sex today. Maybe Draco will insist on just talking and talking and talking. Maybe he’ll listen to what Harry likes and not be interested in any of it. Maybe he’ll — arrive while Harry’s pacing and freaking out, apparently.

He steps out of the fireplace looking rested and casual in jeans and a button-up that’s rolled up to his elbows and Harry has to resist the urge to gape. The possibility of having Draco later makes everything about him more inviting. And Harry’s allowed to look now, isn’t he?

“Morning,” Draco says. He has one of those glints in his eyes Harry’s only ever seen while on a particularly interesting case, only now it’s directed at Harry. It makes him feel like he’s the only thing in the world; like everything outside of the two of them doesn’t exist. 

“Hi,” Harry says, feeling stupid. “Can I get you a drink? Uh, I mean tea, it’s only ten. I, uh —,”

“Breathe, Harry,” Draco says. “A cup of tea sounds good. I’ll join you. The kitchen is the best room for talking, don’t you think?”

Harry smiles, remembering Molly’s words about the kitchen being the heart of the house. Maybe it’s a pure-blood thing. 

“I did my homework,” Harry admits while putting the kettle on. Maybe the kitchen is the best room for talking because there are so many excuses for avoiding eye-contact. 

“How was it?” Draco says. He’s sat down by the kitchen table, and Harry doesn’t turn to check if the glint of humour he thinks he can hear is reflected in Draco’s eyes too.

“Hard. I mean, uh. Fuck. I mean difficult, but yeah also I guess hard, arousing. Please make me stop talking.”

Draco laughs, and it soothes Harry’s nerves. This is Draco, just Draco. He trusts Draco, he _knows_ Draco.

“We agreed, remember? Talking is good.”

“That’s easy for you to say, eloquent sod that you are.” The banter makes it easier for Harry to pour the water into cups and turn around to face Draco. 

“It’s hardly my fault you never bothered to learn how to speak, is it?” Draco laughs. “Jokes aside though, we don’t have to go over everything right away. But we do need the basics.”

Harry sits down and grabs the tea-tray on the side of the table. He picks out one of those teas that’s supposed to be calming that Hermione had bought him. If there was ever a time for it, and all that. 

“What are the basics then?” he asks.

“Hard limits and things we really like or need, and a safeword,” Draco says, then seeing the confusion on Harry’s face continues. “Hard limits are things we absolutely will not do. As you learn more about kinks and BDSM in general I’m guessing you’ll discover more hard limits than you have right now, because people are into a lot of things I’d never even heard of before I became active in the community. That’s alright. You can always change things you like and don’t like, just remember to tell me.”

Harry considers this while adding more sugar to his tea than necessary. “Alright. So I guess being called Potter is one of those limits for me, I really don’t like that.”

“Good,” Draco grins. “What else?”

Harry thinks back to the night with Matt. “I don’t like, uhm, blunt force? Does that make sense? I like pain, but the sharp kind. Like being slapped or spanked — but I don’t like being punched or thrown.”

“That makes perfect sense,” Draco says. His finger circles the rim of his cup, and the steady movement of it is the perfect draw for Harry’s gaze. “What about being spanked with something?”

“Like a belt or something?” Harry asks, blushing. “Yeah I’d really like that.”

“Alright, go on,” Draco says. Harry’s eyes follow Draco’s circling finger up to his hand and his muscled forearm. 

“I like being held down or tied up,” Harry admits, keeping his eyes on Draco’s forearm and imagining the way it could hold him down. “I don’t like something covering my eyes. I think, maybe with you though. Uhm, I like giving up control, having someone else decide. I like being fucked.” Harry blushes harder. “I like it when it’s a little rough, when it stretches so much it hurts a little — so I guess I don’t like too much prep? Fuck this is embarrassing to talk about.”

Draco reaches out across the table to grab Harry’s hand. “I know. It gets easier as you go though, and you’re doing great.”

Harry flushes and pleasure rushes through him at the praise. It feels different somehow, than getting a ‘good job’ on one of their cases.

“You like that?” Draco asks, “being praised?”

Harry nods, biting his lip and keeping his eyes fixed on their joined hands. 

“Good, I love giving praise.” He squeezes Harry’s hand and Harry looks up to meet his eyes. 

“You’ve done very well telling me some of the things you like, so now I’ll tell you some of mine,” Draco says. “I like taking control, I like tying people up, I like holding them down, I like spanking both with my hand or with instruments. So we’re very compatible, on those.”

Harry can’t help it, images of Draco bending him over the kitchen table and holding him down while he fucks him rush his brain, and his cock starts to harden in his pants. 

“I also like being in charge of my sub’s orgasms. Like telling them when they can and can’t come. How do you feel about that?”

Harry imagines feeling desperate to come, balancing on the edge and holding back, waiting for permission. He remembers his cold showers and refusing to touch himself, wanting to wait for Draco.

“Oh,” he says, laughing a little. “That’s what I’ve been doing.”

“What do you mean?” Draco asks. 

“Well, I mean, I got hard last night doing my, er, homework. And then again this morning. But I didn’t want to, you know… I wanted to wait for you.”

Something wild flashes in Draco’s eyes, and Harry’s breath catches. 

“That’s very good, Harry. You’ve been so good, waiting for me.” Draco rubs his thumb across Harry’s wrist as he speaks, and Harry’s entire arm feels charged. 

“Do you know anything else that you absolutely will not do?” Draco asks. “Or that you need in order to feel happy, sexually?”

Harry shakes his head. “Maybe later, but nothing I can think of now.”

“Alright,” Draco agrees. “I have more kinks, and more things I won’t do — but nothing I can’t live without and no limits regarding the things you’ve mentioned. At some point I want us to go over one of the kink forms from my club, really get a sense of what we want to try together and whatnot, but what we have discussed is enough for now.”

“Does that mean we can fuck?” Harry asks, slapping his hand over his mouth and laughing when he realises what he’s said. 

“A couple more things first,” Draco says. “First, and I guess this could be considered a limit. I don’t share, not unless I’m there myself. No more finding blokes like Matt.”

“Agreed,” Harry says. He doesn’t think he’d go back to that club either way, not after what Draco has already taught him. Not after being curled up next to him in the sofa and truly feeling how good it is to be taken care of after sex. 

“And second, we need a safeword,” Draco says.

Harry frowns. “Do we really need one? Can’t we just say stop?”

Draco shakes his head. “No, because what if you say ‘don’t stop?’ or I just _think_ you said don’t stop. And besides, some people like saying no and stop, even if they don’t mean it. It needs to be something that will catch our attention and that we wouldn’t usually say.”

“Uhm, what about almond?” Harry suggests, catching sight of a bag of the very thing on his counter. 

“Almond is fine. And I need you to swear to me you’ll use it. If I’m crossing a boundary, or you think I might be about to. Or if anything feels off or uncomfortable. BDSM is all about trust. You need to trust me to respect your boundaries, and I need to trust that you’ll use the safeword if the situation calls for it.”

“I promise,” Harry says. Then he takes a moment to think, and realises there is something Draco deserves to know. And maybe something Harry deserves to say. “I have these moods sometimes where I feel just, uhm, completely worthless I guess. I think if we do a scene, that’s what it’s called right?”

Draco nods, tea halfway between his lips and the table.

“I think if we did a scene when I’m in one of those moods I wouldn’t be able to use the safeword. So maybe if we just have a question before starting, like ‘should we do a scene?’ then we could avoid that happening?”

“Of course we’ll communicate before beginning a scene. I’d never do it any other way. Would you be able to say no to doing a scene at all though?” Draco asks, concern settling in his brows and drawing them down.

“Yes,” Harry says, filling the word with determination. “It’s just that the headspace I get into when I’m having sex is a bit wonky, and if I’m in one of my moods when I go there I get very concerned with trying to prove my worth. I wouldn’t be able to say no then, I think. At least I can’t guarantee it, and I don’t want to do that to you.”

“Very well,” Draco says, smirking at Harry over his cup of tea. “So what do you say we do a scene?”

“Yes,” Harry agrees, his cock giving a throb in his pants. “Yes, definitely.”

“What do you want us to do then?” Draco asks, finally setting his cup down on the table.

“I want you to decide,” Harry says, and fuck it feels good to say it out loud. “You know what I like, I trust you. And I’ll say almond if anything feels off. Promise.”

“Good,” Draco says. “I trust you too.”

Draco stands from his chair and walks around the table to place his hands on Harry’s shoulders.

“You know what I think? I think you’ve been hard for a while, sitting here having this conversation. I think you’ve been imagining me bending you over any hard surface in this room and having my way with you. Am I right?”

“Yes,” Harry breathes, leaning his head back to look at Draco standing above him. 

“I think it would be cruel to have all of this talk about sex right here at the kitchen table, without showing it any action, don’t you agree?”

Harry’s breath hitches. “I do.”

“Stand up,” Draco demands.

Harry stands so fast his chair falls to the floor, but he can’t bring himself to care. He stands face to face with Draco, and he licks his lips in anticipation, wondering if Draco will kiss him. Draco licks his lips too, but reaches out and pulls Harry’s t-shirt over his head. And of course he won’t kiss Harry. This is just a ‘partners-with-benefits’ thing, and kissing probably isn’t in the description.

Harry watches as Draco unbuttons his own shirt to reveal a pale and toned stomach, a trail of hair so light it’s almost invisible from his navel down to his jeans. He lets Draco unbutton his jeans, and steps out of them easily. His cock strains his pants, and he wonders if his pants or Draco’s jeans will come off first. 

“You know,” Draco says, running a light finger over Harry’s cock. “I don’t normally wear jeans, but they come with these handy hoops for a belt — and I do love having a belt handy.”

Harry’s eyes immediately go to the leather belt wrapped around Draco’s hips. “Please,” he whispers, cock twitching.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Draco says. “Take your pants off and lean over the table.”

Harry’s hands shake as he removes his final piece of clothing. Draco’s hands are on the buckle of his belt, and the sight makes Harry shiver. He leans over the table and curves his back a little so his arse is pointing up. The anticipation of the sharp pain the belt will bring is almost as good as the pain itself, and Harry never would have known if he’d kept going out with idiots who just did what they liked without communicating along the way.

“Eager are we, pet?” Draco asks, running a warm hand down Harry’s back. 

Harry shivers again. “I like that.”

“Pet?” Draco humms, “It fits you well, I think.”

Harry listens as Draco’s belt buckle clinks, and anticipation builds when he hears the belt being pulled from it’s hoops. Draco runs his hands over Harry’s back, and Harry feels the cool metal of the belt in his hands as they move past his waist and down to his arse. 

The first smack of the belt against his arse comes as a surprise, and Harry gasps. “Fuck.”

He lifts his arse as much as he can to show Draco he wants it again. Draco doesn’t disappoint and the belt hits his arse twice in quick succession. Harry moans and rests his forehead on the table, breathing hard.

“Fuck, Draco, that’s — aah.” Harry breaks off into a moan when the belt hits his arse again. 

Draco places a hand on the back of Harry’s neck, stroking gently and playing with Harry’s hair. Harry tenses for the next blow of the belt, but it doesn’t come, and he relaxes into Draco’s touch. His cock is hard and aching between his legs, and he doesn’t know if he wants Draco to touch it or keep spanking him, so he doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to. Draco has him.

“Shit, you look good like this,” Draco says, tugging gently at Harry’s hair.

“Feel good too,” Harry says, words almost slurring with relaxing into Draco. 

The belt lands against his arse again and Harry groans as heat spreads from where the belt hit and through his body. Draco swings the belt again, and Harry’s focus closes in on the sensations of his body and the heat of his arse as the belt lands, impact after impact. He feels charged, each stroke of the belt sending electricity through him that's building and building until he’s ready to explode with it. 

Harry pants and moans against the table, and he might have been embarrassed if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s too turned on to care. He feels too safe to care. Draco places a cool hand against his flaming arse and pets it softly, and Harry moans and leans into the touch.

“Your arse is so gorgeous like this, pet. All warm and red and sensitive.”

“Mmh,” Harry says, leaning back and pushing his arse closer to Draco’s hand. 

“I’m trying to decide between fucking you right here and taking you to bed,” Draco says. His other hand joins the first on Harry’s arse, and Harry shivers at the feeling of a lubed finger running between his cheeks. 

“Please,” Harry says, moaning.

“Please what?” Draco asks, finger running back and forth over Harry’s opening and making him push back for more.

“I — anything, just, please. More.”

Draco presses his finger against Harry’s rim, but doesn’t push inside and Harry wants to scream with frustration. 

“You’ve been very good for me,” Draco says, “standing still like this for so long, letting me mark up your pretty arse. I think I want to take you to bed and fuck you properly into the mattress.”

He removes his hands from Harry entirely, and an embarrassing whine escapes Harry before he can stop it. 

“Go to bed, pet, I’ll be right up. Don’t touch yourself until I get there.”

Harry doesn’t feel the stiffness of his knees and shoulders until he stands up from his position bent over the table, and he winces a little when he does. He turns to see Draco standing, half-naked in his kitchen, one hand wet with lube and it feels surreal. He can’t believe he has this. 

“Please hurry,” Harry says, not caring if he sounds desperate. He feels desperate, like he might explode if Draco doesn’t fuck him _right bloody now_.

“Go on now,” Draco says.

Harry feels a bit odd, walking naked and hard through his living room and up the stairs to his bedroom. He throws himself on the bed, and tries to calm his breathing. His cock is wet with precome, and he grabs onto the sheets in an effort to keep from touching it. He listens to the sound of Draco wandering around downstairs, opening and closing cupboards and wonders what the fuck he’s doing. It isn’t long though, before he hears footsteps on the stairs. 

Draco enters his bedroom wearing only his pants, and carrying a wet towel and a glass of orange juice. Harry’s pleased to see the wet patch on Draco’s pants and he doesn’t bother asking about the stuff he’s brought. Draco will explain when he’s ready. Draco places glass and the towel on Harry’s nightstand and looks down at Harry’s clenched fists. 

“You didn’t touch?” he asks.

Harry shakes his head and grips the sheets tighter.

“Well done,” Draco says, walking to stand at the foot of the bed. “You’re being so good for me.”

Harry smiles at the praise. “Thank you.”

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Draco says. “And you’re not going to come unless I’ve got my hand around your cock, do you understand?”

Harry nods, twisting his fingers in the sheets to make sure he can’t do anything wrong with them. Draco looks down at them and smiles. Seconds later invisible bonds pull Harry’s hands up above his head, and he groans at both the feeling of being restrained and the display of wordless and wandless magic. He had no idea Draco could do that. 

“Figured if I was going to learn a wandless and wordless spell it should be something that would be useful for both work and play,” Draco laughs. His laugh is infectious and Harry catches it, feeling giddy with the fact that sex can be like this. That the sex _he_ wants can be like this. That he can give up control and feel the deliciousness of pain and pleasure intertwining without it having to be something dark or broody. 

The ‘I love you’ sits at the tip of his tongue and he bites down to keep it there, choosing instead to look up at Draco as he takes off his pants and crawls into bed. He’s gorgeous, of course he is, he’s _Draco_. He could never be anything but gorgeous, and he’s in Harry’s bed smiling and running his hands up Harry’s naked thighs. Harry’s arse is still warm against the sheets and he moans softly when Draco’s hands reach it. 

“Bend your knees,” Draco says, and Harry hurries to comply. He’s happy they’re doing it this way, that he’ll be able to watch Draco as he fucks him. The thought sends shivers through him and he spreads his legs wider.

“Beautiful,” Draco says, running a finger down Harry’s cock to his balls. Harry buckles his hips for more, but Draco continues the soft touches — down his cock, over his rim, fondling his warm arse.

“Draco, please.” Harry begs. “Please, I need you in me. Please.”

Draco reaches for his wand and summons lube into his hand. “How can I resist when you beg so prettily? How many fingers do you want?”

Harry looks down at Draco’s cock. It’s thick and gorgeous and flushed with arousal, Harry imagines the burn and stretch of taking it all in and drags in a ragged breath.

“Please,” he says again, “just one. Just for the lube. I want to feel all of you.”

“Fuck,” Draco breathes and in that single word Harry can finally see just how aroused Draco is too. Harry isn’t the only one deeply affected by this and the knowledge warms him from the inside out. 

Draco spreads the lube over his hand and reaches down between Harry’s legs. He doesn’t tease this time, and Harry arches his back and curses when Draco’s finger enters him in one determined thrust. He moves it in and out a couple of times before taking it out entirely and pushing it in with more lube. Harry keeps his legs spread as wide as he can, and tugs on the restraints around his arms. His arousal throbs in rhythm with Draco’s thrusts and he’s desperate for Draco to finally fuck him.

When the finger in his arse disappears and doesn’t come back Harry’s eyes focus back on Draco, and he watches, spellbound, as Draco takes his time lubing up his cock. He’s biting his lips and breathing hard as his hand works his cock, and Harry wants to beg all over again, but he can’t make his mouth form words. 

Draco grabs Harry’s legs with slick hands and places them around his hips, and Harry knows he’s about to be fucked. That _Draco_ is about to fuck him, and it’s all too much and not enough all at the same time. He fixes his eyes on the ceiling and breathes hard, gasping as he feels the head Draco’s cock rub over his rim. His hips twitch upward, silently begging Draco to _do something_. 

When Draco finally enters him, Harry pulls hard on his restraints and uses the leverage of his legs around Draco’s waist to lift his own hips off the bed. “Fuck, oh fuckfuckfuck, Draco! Gah!”

Draco pushes in slowly, and Harry’s arse burns as it works to stretch around Draco’s cock. It feels almost too good, too intense and Harry only remembers to keep breathing when Draco places a firm hand on his hip and squeezes. Draco bottoms out and they both moan, bodies shuddering at the same time as they finally join completely. Harry locks his feet behind Draco’s back to pull him impossibly closer, and then Draco moves. Pulling out and thrusting back in so forcefully the air is shoved from Harry’s lungs as pleasure shoots through him like electricity. 

“Fuck! Yes. Jesus Merlin Christ.”

“I should have known you’d speak gibberish when you get fucked,” Draco says, words breathless and full of laughter. 

Harry laughs too, and breaks off into a groan when Draco’s cock slams against his prostate. “I don’t normally, aah fuck, say anything at all.”

Draco sets a steady rhythm with his thrusts, leaning down over Harry, hands on the bed beside him. “I like to hear you.”

“Fuck,” Harry groans, throwing his head back and letting the sensations of Draco’s cock slamming into him rush through him. His body still feels sensitive and charged from the spanking, and he won’t last long. Not with Draco’s cock rubbing against his prostate with every thrust. Not when it’s Draco.

“You feel so, fuck, Draco! So good!” Harry’s only half aware of the words escaping his mouth. His focus is on Draco thrusting into him again and again, making heat and pleasure build up in his pelvis and begging to overflow. It’s on his aching cock, on the precome leaking down it’s tip. It’s on Draco.

“Draco, please. I can’t — I need. Please.” Harry knows his words don’t make sense, but Draco seems to understand anyway because his hand wraps firmly around Harry’s cock and Harry lets out a guttural groan at the feeling.

The stimulation to his arse and his cock make pleasure explode from his lower spine, and he knows he’s seconds from coming. He remembers ‘Don’t come without my hand on your cock’, and realises he’s got permission. Draco’s firm hand jerking his cock in rhythm with his thrusts is all the permission he needs. 

“So good for me,” Draco groans, and it’s enough to push Harry over the edge. His hips arch off the bed and his arms thrash in their binds as everything in him overflows and he comes with a shout. Every nerve in his body vibrates with pleasure, and Harry is completely lost to it. Draco fucks him through it, mumbling words of praise and encouragement that makes Harry feel like he can keep coming for hours if Draco just keeps it up. When everything settles down to a pleasurable hum, Harry uses his legs for leverage to meet Draco’s thrusts until he’s coming too, collapsing onto Harry’s stomach and panting hard. 

“Fuck,” Harry says when his breathing is almost back to normal. “That was, just, fuck.”

“Indeed,” Draco says. He pulls out gently and rolls off Harry with a groan, waving his hand to release Harry’s wrists. Harry lets them fall to the bed and closes his eyes, half waiting for the horrible feelings to come creeping in now that they’re done. Before his feelings have time to do anything though, he hears Draco wet the towel with a softly spoken spell. 

He feels Draco take his hand, and hums softly in appreciation when the cool towel is rubbed over his wrists, soothing the slight soreness there. Draco keeps going, taking his time running the towel softly down Harry’s arm, across his chest, down the other hand to his wrist. He brings the towel back to his chest and moves it down, cleaning the come off Harry’s belly and the lube from between his legs. 

“Turn over,” Draco says, and Harry does. Nothing about this feels like crashing into emotional hangover land, or dropping, like Draco had called it. The way Draco’s taking care of him makes him feel like he’s landing softly on silk sheets, relaxed and luxurious. 

Draco cleans his back with the cool towel too, and Harry sighs with pleasure when he presses it softly against his heated arse and whispers a healing charm. He’s almost half asleep when Draco speaks again. 

“Turn back around and sit up.”

Harry does, and is surprised to be handed a glass of cold orange-juice. So that’s what it had been for. 

“I feel like a prince or something,” Harry says, drinking his juice and realising he’s surprisingly thirsty.

“You should,” Draco smiles. “You deserve to be taken care of, especially after a scene.”

“I feel like I should be taking care of you,” Harry admits. “You made me feel absolutely brilliant.”

Draco takes the empty glass and fills it with water, taking a sip before handing it back to Harry.

“You are taking care of me,” he says. “Making sure you’re alright, cleaning you off like I just did, it’s what I need after a scene. Letting me care for you _is_ taking care of me.”

“Oh,” Harry says, wondering if that’s a philosophy he should accept in more parts of his life too. “Alright then.”

“How do you feel?” Draco asks, looking carefully at Harry.

Harry considers for a moment, wanting his reply to be truthful. “I feel brilliant. There isn’t that looming feeling of doom I’m always having either. I just feel relaxed.”

Draco grins. “That makes two of us then. I think this partner-with-benefits thing is going to work out brilliantly.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, forcefully reminding himself that he doesn’t get to be disappointed that that’s all Draco wants. He knew that going in.

“And you’ll tell me if you start to feel that, what did you call it? Emotional hangover?”

“I’ll tell you,” Harry promises.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry wakes up on Sunday morning feeling warm and comfortable, and he stays in bed to relish in the feeling of being rested and relaxed. He doesn’t remember feeling this way after sex for years, and the toxicness of the cycle he’d been caught in really sinks in. He’d feel bad after sex and he’d go back to sex to fix it, without doing anything to change the way it made him feel. No wonder his brain wouldn’t function with the way he was treating it. 

The only dark-spot on his morning is the empty bed beside him. The day before had been perfect. Draco had been perfect, but Harry can’t help but wish he was here. That he could be _more_ than just someone with benefits. Harry doesn't want to be a benefit to Draco, he wants to be the whole deal. He wants to kiss and cuddle and have Draco stay the night. He wants all of it, but Draco doesn’t, and Harry’s endlessly happy with having what he has. He’s got Draco as a partner, and he’s got to have Draco as a Dom.

He goes into the office the following Monday feeling just as relaxed and well rested, and the lights in their office don’t seem too bright at all. 

“No emotional hangover then?” Draco asks, grinning at Harry.

“None at all,” Harry smiles. “Just motivated to put Crabbe behind bars.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Draco says, “I think I should see your memory from Thursday, just to be prepared in case we run into Matt again. And to make sure we don’t miss anything.”

Harry hesitates. “Uhm, the whole thing?”

“I think from the moment you met him to the moment you stopped talking should suffice,” Draco says. He doesn’t look happy about it either, to Harry’s relief.

The Pensive is still sitting on his desk from the previous week and Harry focuses on his memories of Matt in the pub and the conversation they’d had after Harry laced his drink with Veritaserum. 

“So before you watch this,” Harry says, “how does this ‘partner-with-benefits’ thing work with just, regular sex?”

Draco frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I just,” Harry shrugs. “I know you to be a pretty possessive person. And I think this memory might bother that part of you. I’m just thinking that a little bit of good old fashioned, rough, possessive sex might be the perfect fix.”

“Sweet Morgana I’ve created a monster,” Draco sighs, pretending exasperation. “I thought you felt awkward talking about sex.”

Harry laughs. “I think the sex cured it.”

“I think regular sex is definitely a benefit we could include,” Draco says, “but I’m hardly going to fuck you over your desk in the middle of the work-day.”

Harry shrugs and extracts the memory, placing it gently in the Pensive. “Alright, but just so you know I’m all for it.”

Draco flips him the finger and lowers his face into the Pensive. Harry decides not to follow him in. He remembers it well enough, and he doesn’t need to watch Draco watch him. 

Draco comes out of the Pensive looking furious. “I’m going to fuck you over your desk now,” he says, “and I don’t want a word about it!”

Harry laughs and he sees the corners of Draco’s mouth twitch in response. “Told you.”

The sex is quick and dirty, and like taken straight out of one of Harry’s daydream fantasies. Draco fucks him in determined thrusts, his hand on Harry’s cock the entire time. Harry’s orgasm builds quickly, and he struggles to hold back before remembering that this isn’t a scene — he doesn’t need permission. He comes with a strangled groan and relaxes into his desk while Draco fucks him to completion, loving the feeling of being fucked while he’s over-sensitive and sore.

When Draco pulls out and casts a cleaning charm over them both Harry hums and grins. “That was a great idea.”

Draco laughs. “It was a terrible idea and we’ll get fired if we keep doing it.”

Harry laughs too, pulling his trousers up and fixing his robes. “Honestly, I think we could have sex on Robarts desk right in front of him and still keep our jobs. We’re the best team he’s got.”

“That’s true,” Draco muses. “We’re about to close a decade-old case, after all.”

It’s easy, coming up with one of their ‘ingenious’ plans when they have a lead and a way in. They’ll get a phone registered to Harry’s Glamour-name, and his real address. The address of course, makes them bicker back and forth for half an hour. 

“I don’t like it, him having your real address,” Draco insists. 

“Matt knows where I live; it’s too risky to use another address.”

In the end Harry wins out, and by lunch they’ve got the phone ready. They lay a plan for the following day: how they’ll text Crabbe pretending Harry got fired and needs work. How he’ll put his Glamour on and show up to a meeting with Draco under his invisibility cloak and half a dozen Aurors on standby.

They spend the entire day together, planning and Harry doesn’t feel an emotional hangover at all. If that’s what he felt, he’d have to tell Draco, but it isn’t. He feels a gentle stiffness in his muscles, and a soreness in his backside that constantly reminds him of how they started the day. He feels a desperate yearning for the man sitting right in front of him. Harry wants to reach out and hold his hand while they work, he wants to ask Draco home for dinner. And it’s not an emotional hangover because it’s not a reaction to something they’ve _done_ , it’s grief about what he _can’t_.

If nothing else, work keeps them busy, and Harry’s exhausted enough by the time he gets home that he goes straight to bed and falls asleep immediately.

They text Crabbe, or Crucio as he prefers to call himself, at noon the next day. Harry expects they’ll have to wait hours, if not days for a reply, but one comes in half an hour later. 

_‘Hello Henry, Matt did tell me about you and all of your … assets. I’d like very much to meet you and see for myself. I’ll join Matt at the club tonight. Meet us there. -C’_.

“Well fuck,” Harry says, holding the phone up to show Draco the text. “I was really hoping I wouldn’t have to go back there wearing my Glamour.”

“It’ll be fine, I’ll be there the whole time,” Draco says. “And we’ve got six Aurors on standby, remember?”

Harry smiles self-disparagingly, “That's what I’m worried about, if I’m honest. I don’t want you or anyone else to see who I am when I’m under the Glamour.”

Draco places a calming hand on Harry’s knee, and it sends tingles through his entire body. “It’ll be fine. If any of the other Aurors ask we’ll tell them it’s an undercover identity we’ve created.”

Turning to stare at Draco Harry gapes, “You’d do that for me? Lie to the others?”

“Naturally,” Draco drawls, for a horrifying second sounding like Snape. “Slytherins look after our own.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, feeling a little overwhelmed that he’s one of Draco’s own now. Though, when he considers all the things they’ve done for each other over the years he might have been for a while without ever noticing.

* * *

Harry arrives at the club completely sober for the first time ever, his Glamour firmly in place and Draco’s breath on his neck. The bouncer gives him a kind smile when he enters, and Harry feels Draco slip through the door next to him, invisible under Harry’s cloak. 

He makes it to the bar and orders his usual shots, figuring it’ll be suspicious if he doesn’t. He downs one, forcing himself not to survey the room. That’s what Draco is there for, Harry’s job is to act like he always does until Matt, and hopefully Crabbe, finds him. He drinks his other shot and orders two more. The miserable look of someone who’s just been fired comes easily to him when he thinks about Draco seeing this; Draco seeing the blokes passing by and grabbing at his arse without question, and Harry not reacting because he doesn't react, not when he’s Henry. 

“There you are,” Matt says, his arms wrapping around Harry from behind. “Wondered if you’d show up after the text Crucio sent you.”

“You know about that, huh?” Harry asks, downing one of his shots when the bartender sets them in front of him. 

“Yeah, I was meeting with him when you texted. Told him this is where we usually meet.” Matt’s hands sneak down to Harry’s arse as he speaks, and Harry leans into it. It’s too easy to be Henry, after all the time he’s spent doing it.

“Where is he then?” Harry asks, tilting his head to give Matt access to his neck. 

“Upstairs in a private room,” Matt explains. “He doesn’t like to be around the ‘common people’ too much, apparently.”

Harry wants to snort, because no, of course he wouldn't. He wonders if Draco is close enough to hear what Matt’s saying, so he’ll know to follow. An invisible brush against his hand confirms that yes, Draco is right there. 

“Should we go up then?” Harry asks, giving Matt a soft smile. “Can’t imagine he’s a man who likes to be kept waiting.”

Matt grinds his clothed erection against Harry’s arse and makes a frustrated sound. “He isn’t, or I’d have a go at you in the bathroom before heading up.”

“There’s always later,” Harry assures, but gives a sigh of disappointment for Matt’s benefit. 

Matt groans again, but grabs Harry’s wrist and starts pulling him through the crowd. He walks into everyone who doesn’t move aside, and Harry wonders how he ever thought that was something to desire in someone. They make it to a staircase Harry’s never noticed before, and Matt pulls him up then and rushes him in through the first door in the corridor they reach. He slams the door behind them and it’s all happened so fast Harry isn’t sure Draco made it through the door too. 

Harry waste precious seconds staring at the closed door, wondering if he should find some excuse to open it up again. Matt tugs his arm before he has the chance to decide, and he turns around to find himself face to face with Crabbe.

“Uhm, hi,” Harry says - staring wide eyed at the man. He needs to signal to Draco somehow that it’s really Crabbe, just in case Draco’s trapped outside the room. Then he needs to stall long enough for Draco and their team to get anti-Apparition charms in place. 

“You must be Crucio,” Harry says, “I’m Henry.” 

He holds his hand out, but Crabbe doesn’t take it. Instead he turns to Matt. “You’re right, we could get good money for him.”

“Right?” Matt says, fingers painfully tight around Harry’s wrist now. “He’s already a slut, so if we get him on drugs I’m sure he’d do whatever anyone asked.”

Ice runs down Harry’s spine. He has a sneaking suspicion that Crabbe isn’t just in the Muggle world to traffic drugs, but people too.

“What?” he asks, looking between Matt and Crabbe with huge eyes. He’s not entirely sure how much of his fear is acting and how much is real. Draco is close, after all. He’ll keep him safe.

“I have people lined up who’d pay good money for you,” Crabbe grins, but his eyes stay cold. “Maybe not quite the job you had in mind, but you’ll be fed and fucked on a regular basis.”

Harry struggles against Matt’s grip, but he only tightens it. 

“Matt, what’s going on?” Harry asks, though by now he’s certain he knows. He pushes as much hysteria into his voice as he can. “You’re not going to sell me to some creepy old bloke to be kept in a basement, are you? You’re joking, right?”

Harry freezes when Crabbe pulls out his wand. They’d assumed he wouldn’t use magic, not in front of people he thought to be Muggles. Fuck, what if the anti-Apparition charms aren’t up yet? He could side-along Harry to fuck-knows-where.

“What’s that stick?” Harry asks, praying that Draco can hear him through the door. He’s not in the room, he can’t be or he’d have brushed against Harry by now to let him know. What if Crabbe put spells on the door? What if Draco hasn’t heard anything?

Crabbe walks closer, and Harry struggles against Matt’s grip. He should get his wand out too, he should do _something_ , but if Crabbe sees his wand he might Apparate out in a second, and they’ll have lost him.

“This is a wand,” Crabbe says. “It’s the reason you’re going to do everything I tell you.”

Inspiration strikes Harry, and it’s silly, but he has to let Draco know they need to act _now_. He scoffs at Crabbe. “Right, that’s a wand and I’ve got almonds growing out of my face.”

Crabbe’s hand is inches from Harry when he speaks, and the second his words are out the door explodes open. Crabbe and Matt turn to stare at the empty doorway and Crabbe raises a shield between himself and the door just in time to deflect Draco’s stunner. Harry acts fast, pulling his wand from the hidden pocket in his jeans and casting at Crabbe’s back. Not his finest moment, he thinks, but worth it when the giant man crumbles to the floor. 

“Harry!” Draco shouts, and Harry turns to Matt just in time to see the fist heading for his face. Pain explodes in his jaw as he falls to the floor, only to jerk back because of the firm grip Matt still has on Harry’s wrist. Harry’s wand falls from his grip, and he has to blink hard to try and clear his head. Draco throws a stunner towards Matt, but it deflects off the shield Crabbe had raised. 

Matt lets go of Harry and pulls a gun out of his jeans, pointing it at Harry’s head. 

“Let go of the wand,” he tells Draco, just as the protective barrier crumbles under Draco’s onslaught. 

Draco freezes, but doesn’t let go of his wand. 

“Drop it, or I shoot. And not a word, I know how those things work.” Matt’s voice is cold, and through the haze of his throbbing head Harry suddenly feels afraid. Draco could be hurt, he could be hurt, all because Harry wasn’t quick enough. Because he didn’t think to consider Matt a proper threat.

Draco drops his wand to the floor and stares at Matt with disgust. Matt relaxes a little and points to Crabbe.

“How long until he wakes up.”

Draco doesn’t answer, just keeps staring at Matt who’s hands suddenly fly behind his back, held firm by invisible restraints. The gun falls to the floor, and Harry hurries to grab it, and scrambles to get his wand. Matt curses and Draco bends down to grab his wand, throwing a stunner at Matt too, almost as an afterthought as he takes firm determined strides to Harry.

“Told you that would be a useful skill,” he says, smiling at Harry.

Harry lets out a huff of laughter, and releases all his fear with it. They’re alright.

“Are you alright?” Draco demands, staring down at Harry.

Harry moves his jaw and winces a little, but manages to stand without falling over. “Yeah, just bruised. Maybe a tad concussed. 

Draco casts a healing charm on Harry’s chin, and he feels immediately better. He casts another spell and the dizziness goes away too. 

“Thanks,” Harry says. “Have you called the other Aurors yet?”

“They’re still working on the anti-Apparition wards,” Draco says. “I didn’t have time to call them in when I heard you say almonds. I just, er, acted.” He looks embarrassed, and Harry knows it’s about the breach of protocol. He should have called them before storming in.

“If you’d called them Crabbe would have side-alonged me to some perverts basement by now. He was inches away when you came in.”

“Good,” Draco smiles, “and it gives me time to do this.”

He walks over to Matt and casts Obliviate on him, standing with his eyes closed for several minutes while Harry makes sure neither Matt nor Crabbe is waking up anytime soon.

“There,” Draco says, grinning and looking very pleased with himself.

“What did you do?” Harry asks.

“I erased every memory he has of you, well of Henry really. Except the conversation you had on your sofa. And I gave him a false memory of what happened later, like we would have done if Henry was a legitimate undercover identity.

Harry laughs with relief, itching to reach out and kiss Draco. “So nobody at work will know about — well, Henry?”

“I hardly think it’s relevant to the case,” Draco smirks. He walks over to Crabbe and flips him over with his boot. “Now let’s call the others in to arrest what really should have ended as a stain on a dirty mattress somewhere.”

Back in the office they get plenty of back-slaps and congratulations on their catch, Draco accepts it all gracefully and they’re halfway through the Auror offices before he realises Draco is subtly moving them in the direction of their private office. When Draco closes the door behind them ten minutes later he immediately grabs Harry’s face and turns it side to side to study it. 

“Are you absolutely sure you’re alright?” he asks, looking for any sign of damage. 

“Perfectly,” Harry smiles. 

“Emotionally too? Fuck I can’t believe how low humans can sink, shitstains on society the both of them! Human-trafficking? I could _murder_ them. In fact, I should murder them. I could do it too, you know? I could just add a little something to their food tomorrow and poof, no more. And nobody would catch me, because everyone in this office is a complete moron. Well, except maybe you — you’d obviously know since I’m telling you all about it.” Draco paces the office as he rants, and Harry stares at him, fondness growing in his belly. “So you’d have to be my accomplice, or I’d have to escape the country. That could work I suppose, though I —,”

“I love you,” Harry says. The words escape him entirely without his permission, but now that they’re out they feel so good he refuses to take them back. 

“What?” Draco says, voice high and eyes huge with surprise.

“I, uhm, I love you,” Harry repeats. “I know you don’t — I just, I can’t help it. I love you.”

Draco frowns. “No you don’t. It’s just the rush of catching Crabbe, and the sex. You’re confused, that’s all.”

Harry laughs, because of course Draco would think he knows best how Harry feels. “I’m really not. I’ve been in love with you for years, if I’m honest. I just didn’t want to admit it. Drove Hermione out of her mind.”

Draco keeps staring, mouth open and eyes wide and looking less put together than Harry’s ever seen him. “You — you love me?”

“Yes,” Harry says, smiling sadly at Draco. He hopes this won’t be the end of them being partners, or the end of his benefits. 

“Fuck!” Draco groans, “Do you know what this means? It means we’re the office idiots. I can’t believe this!”

Harry opens his mouth to ask what the everloving fuck Draco is talking about, but Draco steps closer and pulls him into a kiss before he has the chance. Harry startles, but doesn’t waste any time in putting his hands around Draco and pulling him closer. 

He’d imagined them kissing many times, and it had always been fast and angry, all teeth and fighting for dominance. It’s nothing like he’d imagined it would be. Draco kisses him softly, their lips slotting perfectly together and making Harry’s skin tingle all over. Draco hums into the kiss, running his hands up and down Harry’s back, reaching up to rest his hands in Harry’s hair. Harry moans softly, trying to pull Draco impossible closer. When Draco finally pulls back they’re both breathless.

“Obviously, I love you too,” Draco says. “Just in case you hadn’t realised. We need to say these things out loud I think, being the designated office-morons and all that.”

“You do?” Harry asks. He’s grinning so hard his freshly healed jaw aches, and he doesn’t care. Draco loves him.

“For several years, yes,” Draco admits. “Hence the part about us being the true idiots all along.”

Harry laughs. “I can live with that, as long as I get to take you home from now on.”

“Yes, that sounds good, we should probably do that right away.”

Harry laughs at the expression of pure want on Draco’s face, giddy with the fact that Draco loves him back.

“Absolutely,” he agrees. 

Draco takes him home, Apparating them straight into Harry’s bedroom and kissing him while they’re still breathless from the journey. 

“Mine,” he breathes into Harry’s mouth, leaning down to bite softly at where Harry’s neck meets his shoulder.

“Yes,” Harry agrees, tilting his head to give Draco better access. 

Draco undresses them both and spreads Harry out on the bed, kissing and licking everywhere he can reach, and then turning Harry over to give the same attention to the back of his neck, down his spine, alternating between kisses, licks and soft bites. Harry pants desperately into the pillow, but feels too content to beg for more. They have all the time in the world now. 

When Draco finally fucks him, draping his body over Harry’s and thrusting in a slow, torturous rhythm Harry’s already fighting the urge to come. Draco’s hips twitch and fall out of rhythm and he knows he isn’t the only one who feels close and raw.

“Come for me, Harry,” Draco says, stroking firm hands down Harry’s back and reaching up to tug at his hair. Harry ruts against the bed, looking for more friction against his cock and finding he doesn't need any. He’s so close the feeling of Draco gently tugging at his hair is enough to push him over the edge. 

He comes with a groan, clenching around Draco who curses and grabs Harry’s hand, intertwining their fingers as they come. They clean each other off with lazy spells after, and Draco wraps his arms tightly around Harry before falling asleep.

Harry lets himself linger in the space between asleep and awake, relishing in the feeling of comfort he feels in Draco’s arms. Instead of reaching out to the empty space in his bed he places his hand on Draco’s, safe in the knowledge that he won’t wake up alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated ♥️


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